Everything
by Dave-ck
Summary: And then. Then it's just instinct. She needs. He gives. All reflex. **SPOILERS** for 4x23 from the promos. Yes. That one. Rated M. One-shot.


**Notes: **This contains **SPOILERS **based on the season four finale promos. Please leave if you wish to remain un-spoiled until the final episode airs. Then, by all means, come back and see how wrong I got it. ;)

For PenguinOfTroy in exchange for writing my embrace. Thank you for the story, Of, and thank you for your help with this one.

**Disclaimer: **Castle belongs to a genius greater than mine.

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**Everything**

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There's something different when he opens the door, something that's changed, and he's not sure what, he's not sure how, but there's no hint of the fear. There's no trace of the anger or the resentment or the desperate way she denied him earlier.

She's seen something, then. Done something.

And he doesn't know what, is too afraid to ask, is far too certain he won't like the answer.

So he doesn't.

He only catches a glimpse of her, of the wet hair that frames her face, of the soaked clothes that cling to her frame. He only has time for an interrupted, "Kate-" before she steals the rest of his words with her kiss.

And then. Then it's just _instinct._

She needs. He gives. All reflex.

Instinct and need and love and want and when she reaches for him, he drags her close. He accepts the pull of her like gravity, lets himself spiral out of control. Into her. With her. For her, all of it.

She's fire and passion and cold hands that curl around his neck, icy fingers that dance across the shell of his ears to slide into his hair. Her lips are cool and demanding against his own. Rough. Biting. Desperate. She tastes like change. Like decision. Like something more.

The wet of her clothes soak through his own as she presses against him and it's more than just water, more than just rain, he can taste the salt of her tears on her lips.

Kate pulls away and gasps against his cheek. An, "I love you too."

And his world stops spinning.

Rick pulls back to look at her, to see her face, to read the truth of it in her eyes.

And it's there. Everything. All of it.

"It means something, Castle. It means everything."

And then he's the one who's kissing her, fierce and demanding and more. A hovering kiss, hard against the door. She opens herself for him and he lets himself fall into her, fall into the sun, and he doesn't care, can't care, because _she loves him too_.

And how can he care about anything else when this? This life they can build together? She's decided it's more important than their secrets, more _worth it_ than their truths.

How can he care when that's all he can want for?

Rick worries for a moment that he's asking too much, demanding too much, but Kate meets him, lips and teeth and tongue, kiss for kiss.

Her hands leave his hair, nails scratching as they travel down his back to tug at the ends of his shirt.

And there should be more romance, he thinks. He should take her out to dinner, the kind with candles and flowers and wine. It shouldn't be fumbling and quick and barely inside his loft, not their first time, but she pulls his shirt over his head and he groans when his lips have to leave the side of her neck and it's fire, burning uncontrolled, this need he has for her.

Clever fingers drag him back to her and he gasps at the damp ice of her clothes against his bare chest.

"You're wet," he says, and her breath is a laugh against his cheek.

He hums, low in his throat, and then all thoughts grind to a stumbling halt when she leans in to whisper a teasing echo of, "You have no idea."

A plea, then. A demand. A growled, "Show me."

And she does.

Her eyes darken as they lock with his and then she's reaching down for the hem of her own shirt, dragging the sticking material slowly up and off and over her head. It lands somewhere behind him with a heavy thud and then it's skin against skin and he can't touch enough of her. Chest to chest, his hands flat against the sides of her waist, palms skimming up the column of her back, and it still isn't enough.

His hands find the curve of her neck and he tilts her head back. She lets him, opens for him, to him. Her moan, hot against his lips, engulfs him, burns him, ignites him.

Kate's hands circle his neck and then she's pulling, tugging, yearning. Her leg lifts to slide along the outside of his own, to wrap around his hip and his hands find the back of her thighs, encouraging, steadying as she lifts to wrap both legs around his waist.

Their lips separate and she's above him then, warm and delicious and heavy in his arms. His eyes are level with her collarbone, lips with her chest, and he watches the column of her throat, the shift and sigh of the words as they tumble from her lips.

"Bedroom," she says.

And he nods his head but can't find his feet, can't find enough control to make them cooperate. Instead, Rick leans his weight against her, presses her into the door. He lets her feel him, heavy between her thighs, as his lips pepper kisses across her chest. When his tongue traces the skin along the edge of her bra her fingers tighten in his hair.

Kate's skin is cold, cool under his lips but she warms beneath his touch, ice and fire and she melts against him, turns liquid in his arms.

His teeth scratch a line down her throat, his tongue tracing over her pulse, and he feels the beat of her strong against him as her head thuds against the door behind them and she groans.

Kate circles her hips against his, uses her weight to grind down and his hands clench around her thighs, his hips twisting in time to her beat.

Reflex and want and this time, when she growls out, "Bedroom," and, "Now," what he hears is _too many clothes _and _I need you _and he forces his feet to comply.

He carries her, stumbling, and is a little bit amazed that he makes it into his room, onto his bed, with her lips on his skin and the sharp tug of her teeth against his ear.

Kate laughs as he trips over his feet in his haste to remove his pants but then he's kicked them off, kicked them away, and her chuckle dies on a gasp as his lips find her skin.

Rick grins when he feels her arch against him, into him, it widens when he feels her nipple pebbling against his tongue through the material of her bra.

"Off," she demands, fingers working at the button of her own pants and he pulls away only long enough to help her and then it's fumbling. Fast. He knows this dance, should know all the moves, but finds that he can't remember the steps.

He can only concentrate on the desperate heat of her, the soft moans in his ears, the way she moves, the way she sounds, the way it's nothing like he imagined.

And then, "Faster," she pleads. "Harder." And, "Oh, yes."

"Oh, God."

And, "I love you."

And he comes undone. Her name escapes him with a hiss, a breath against the side of her face, a secret spilled into her hair. She moans his name against his neck and it's everything, that moment.

It's forever. It's a start. It's their always.


End file.
